Mafia Heir Turns Me Gay novel · Chapter 3 of 32

Chapter 3: Morning, Bartender

Mickey goes to Kelli's condo to get his money back and Nunzio walks out of her bedroom.

Mickey didn't sleep.

At six he left a note on the kitchen island that said "Back soon. Don't kill anybody."

The elevator didn't need a thumb going down.

The doorman watched him cross the lobby in last night's waistcoat and said nothing.

Mickey took the Red Line to Roosevelt with his hands in his pockets.

Kelli's condo was on the ninth floor of a glass building in the South Loop.

She'd bought it the year they got engaged.

He'd hung every one of her shelves.

His key still worked.

The living room was full of boxes.

Shoes in one. Candles in another. The framed photo of the two of them at Navy Pier was face down on top of a stack of towels.

Kelli was in the kitchen wrapping her good wine glasses in newspaper.

She had on leggings and one of his old Sox sweatshirts.

She didn't jump when she saw him.

That told Mickey more than anything else could.

"You can't be here, Mickey."

"I've got a key."

"Then leave it on the counter."

He didn't move.

"Where's the money, Kel?"

She tucked newspaper around a stem.

"What money?"

"Sixty-four thousand dollars. Heffernan's. You took all of it on Wednesday at 3:12."

"It was a joint account."

"It was for the lease. You were there when I told the widow on Halsted we'd sign by Christmas."

She laughed.

It was the laugh she used on vendors who tried to upcharge her for linens.

"That tavern is a dump, Mick. It smells like your father."

Mickey put both hands flat on her counter.

"Don't."

"What? It's true. He drank himself to death on the stool by the window."

"And you want to stand behind that exact bar and pour for the same six old men."

She set the glass in a box.

"I was done waiting for you to want something bigger."

"I wanted a bar."

"You wanted to be a bartender. Forever."

She finally looked at him.

"Do you know what I do all day? I book the Lazzaras' parties. I seat their wives."

"I watch money walk through that door every night, and I go home to a man who counts his tips in a coffee can."

"I saved them for us."

"Nobody asked you to."

Somewhere in the condo, a shower shut off.

Mickey didn't notice it then.

"Did you ring a Negroni into the well last night?"

She went very still.

"I told you I don't know what you're talking about."

"Lemon twist. Crushed ice. That's how the well makes them."

"And when he went down, you pointed at me."

"You need to stop saying that."

"Why? Who's going to hear?"

"Mickey." Her voice dropped. "You're standing in my kitchen accusing me of trying to kill a Lazzara."

"Do you understand what that does to a person in this city?"

"I understand what it almost did to me."

She picked up another glass.

Her hands were perfectly steady.

"Santino Lazzara's not going to keep you," she said. "You know that, right? You're a stunt."

"He needed something to wave at his cousin, and you were standing there in a vest."

"Give me the money back, Kel."

"No."

"Half of it's mine."

"Prove it."

"Every deposit's mine. You never put in a dime. It's in the app."

She smiled at him.

"Then call the police. Tell them a Lazzara's boyfriend wants his tips back."

Mickey almost said something he'd have been ashamed of later.

Instead he looked at her left hand.

The diamond was still on it, wrapping wine glasses.

He worked her key off his ring and set it on the counter between them.

"Keep the ring," he said. "Sell it. Buy yourself a better bartender."

For the first time, something moved in her face.

Then a bedroom door opened behind him.

Bare feet on the hardwood.

The smell of Kelli's coconut body wash, on someone else.

Nunzio Lazzara walked into the kitchen in his white undershirt and his suit pants, a towel around his thick neck, his diamond watch already on.

He took a grape from the bowl on the island.

He ate it slowly, looking at Mickey.

"Morning, bartender."

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